Sixty-one-year-old Max Frolicher-Stehli, from Zurich, Switzerland, was rescued along with his wife Margaretha and daughter Hedwig.
The lifeboats were lowered. My wife and two women entered one of the first boats. Twelve men, including myself, were standing near. As there were no other women passengers waiting to get into the boats at that time, we were asked to accompany the women.
While we got into the boats for safety’s sake, all of us thought we would be able to return to the Titanic. The sea was calm. We were rowed by four members of the crew about 300 yards from the steamer.
The steamer’s lights were still burning brightly and the picture, with the iceberg as a background, was most beautiful. The steamer slowly sank, the bow sinking first. The water was covered with small boats and rafts. Then there was a loud crash. The lights went out. Other people who left the boat later say that she broke in two.
After the boat had sunk, we began to search for food or other provisions. There was nothing edible on the lifeboats. We could not even find fresh water. Fortunately one man had some stimulants with him, which were given to the women.
After drifting around for what seemed weeks, the Carpathia was sighted coming towards us. We had no matches or lanterns, and were not put aboard the rescuing ship until daylight.
(Brooklyn Daily Eagle, 19 April 1912)
Unknowingly separated from her husband, Mrs Frank Warren left on boat No. 5.
The lowering of the craft was accomplished with great difficulty. First one end and then the other was dropped at apparently dangerous angles, and we feared that we would swamp as soon as we struck the water.
After the lifeboat was safely afloat, great difficulty was experienced in finding a knife with which to cut the lashings. When we reached the water the ship had settled so that my impression was that I was looking through the portholes into state rooms on deck D, which we had formerly occupied, and as we pulled away we could see that the Titanic was settling by the head with a heavy list to starboard.
Mr Pitman’s orders were to pull far enough away to avoid suction if the ship sank. The sea was like glass, so smooth that the stars were clearly reflected. We were pulled quite a distance away and then rested, watching the rockets in terrible anxiety and realizing that the vessel was rapidly sinking, bow first. She went lower and lower, until the lower lights were extinguished, and then suddenly rose by the stern and slipped from our sight. We had no light in our boat and were left in intense darkness save for an occasional glimmer of light from other lifeboats and one steady green light on one of the ship’s boats which the officers on the Carpathia afterwards said was of material assistance in aiding them to come direct to the spot.
Later in the night we thought we saw lights in the distance, indicating a vessel, and these afterwards proved to be the Carpathia, but at the time we had not expected to be picked up until the arrival of the Olympic, which we knew would be on hand some time in the afternoon and was the only ship of which we had any knowledge.
With daylight, the wind increased and the sea became choppy, and we saw icebergs in every direction, some lying low in the water and others tall, like ships, and some of us thought they were. Our boat was picked up about 4.10 a.m. by the Carpathia and too much cannot be said of the courtesy, kindness and unceasing care of the officers, crew and passengers of this vessel, who worked from morning until night and almost from night until morning in the relief of the survivors.
I was in the second boat picked up. Others were adrift many hours longer and consequently suffered more. The captain of the Carpathia stayed until there were no more boats to pick up and he felt he must get out of the ice before sundown. We left the scene of the disaster about noon with the Californian still standing by, and as we turned back, as far as I could see in all directions, was a continuous floe of ice, marked by detached icebergs.
(Portland Oregonian, 27 April 1912)
Bostonian Edward N. Kimball was spared thanks to the intervention of one of the officers.
The first boat that went off was not more than two-thirds full, and the officers said they would have to do something to get the people started.
When the second boat was being loaded we decided that we would certainly put all the women in this boat. We not only put all the women in our party and those that we had advised to come to the boat deck, but also put in two stewardesses, which were all the women on the boat deck at that time.
Mrs Kimball absolutely refused to leave without me, and one of the officers and myself had to pick her up bodily and put her into the boat, together with all the other women and the two stewardesses.
The boat was then swung off, and the officers ordered it to be lowered. I remained behind on the Titanic after having helped to load all the women in the boat. After it had been lowered ten or twelve feet one of the officers of the Titanic said to me: ‘There are no women on the deck, and there is more room in that lifeboat. You had better go,’ and gave me a push and I jumped and landed in the lifeboat. I feel that I owe my life to that fact.
After we were in the lifeboat the men manned the oars and we rowed away for some distance from the big ship. Even at this time a couple of sailors in our boat stated that they would rather be on the Titanic than in the lifeboat, because she was absolutely unsinkable.
After we knew that the Titanic was doomed, however, we decided to conserve our strength, as we did not know how soon there would be help. We understood that the Olympic would not be along until probably two o’clock the next afternoon, so we tried to row so as to keep near some of the other lifeboats.
Just before daybreak we saw the signal rockets of a boat and rowed towards them. After we had rowed a short time one of the officers in our lifeboat saw the lights but did not know whether it was a ship or only one of our own lifeboats which had a light.
It turned out to be the Carpathia and we continued rowing towards it until we came up alongside. We cannot speak too highly of the treatment and kindness shown us by the officers, passengers and stewards of the Carpathia.
(Boston Post, 20 April 1912)
George A. Harder, a twenty-five-year-old manufacturer from Brooklyn, was travelling first-class with his wife Dorothy.
We saw the crew manning the lifeboats, getting them ready, swinging them out. So we waited around there on the top deck and we were finally told, ‘Go over this way. Go over this way.’ So we followed and went over towards the first lifeboat, where Mr and Mrs Bishop were. That boat was filled, so they told us to move to the next one. We got to the second one, and we were told to go right in there. I have been told that Mr Ismay took hold of my wife’s arm and pushed her right in. Then I followed. When I jumped in, one foot went in between the oars, and I could not move until somebody pulled me over.
As we were being lowered, they lowered one side quicker than the other, but we finally reached the water safely after a few scares. When we got down into the water, somebody said the plug was not in. So they fished around to see if that was in, and I guess it was in. Then they could not get the boat detached from the tackle, so they fussed around there for a while. Finally they asked if anybody had a knife. One of the passengers did, and the rope was cut.
We had about forty-two people in the boat, of whom roughly thirty were women. There was also an officer, a sailor and three other seamen. We rowed out there some distance from the ship – maybe a quarter of a mile – because we were afraid of the suction. The passengers said: ‘Let us row out a little further.’ So they rowed out further, perhaps about half a mile. It may have been three-quarters of a mile. There we waited, and after waiting around a while, there was this other boat that came alongside, that Officer Pitman hailed alongside. It was the boat in which Mr and Mrs Bishop were. We tied alongside of that, and they had twenty-nine people in their boat. We counted the number of people in our boat, and at the time we only counted, I think it was 36. So we gave them four or five of our people in order to make it even, as we were kind of crowded. They say those boats hold sixty p
eople, but we had only the number of people I have mentioned and, believe me, we did not have room to spare.
Then we waited out there until the ship went down. After it went down, we heard a lot of cries and yells. You could not hear any shouts for help, or anything like that. It was a sort of continuous yelling or moaning. You could not distinguish any sounds. I thought it was the steerage in rafts that were all hysterical. That is the way it sounded in the distance.
Our boat was managed very well. Officer Pitman did want to go back to the ship, but all the passengers held out and said: ‘Do not do that. It would only be foolish if we went back there. There will be so many around they will only swamp the boat.’ And at that time, I do not think those people appreciated that there were not enough lifeboats to go around. I never paid any attention to how many lifeboats there were. I did not know.
(US Inquiry, 8 May 1912)
BOAT NO. 6
This was the first to be lowered from the port side, which came under the jurisdiction of Second Officer Charles Herbert Lightoller. Throughout the night, Lightoller adhered strictly to the ‘women and children first’ rule to the extent that on the port side, it was invariably ‘women and children only’ – this, despite the fact that many of the boats left half full. Boat No. 6 left with some twenty-eight people, the only male passenger being an Italian stowaway with a broken arm. Canadian yachtsman Major Arthur Peuchen was included at the last minute as an additional sailor – a wise move, as it transpired, since quartermaster Robert Hichens steadfastly refused to row. It was on this boat that the legend of the unsinkable Molly Brown was born, Mrs J.J. Brown removing her life jacket and seizing an oar to compensate for Hichens’ inactivity.
Passenger Mrs Lucian P. Smith was one of many to criticize the idleness of quartermaster Robert Hichens.
When the first boat was lowered from the left-hand side I refused to get in, and they did not urge me particularly. In the second boat they kept calling for one more lady to fill it, and my husband insisted that I get in it, my friend having gotten in. I refused unless he would go with me. In the meantime Captain Smith was standing with a megaphone on deck. I approached him and told him I was alone, and asked if my husband might be allowed to go in the boat with me. He ignored me personally, but shouted again through his megaphone, ‘Women and children first.’ My husband said: ‘Never mind about that, captain – I will see that she gets in the boat.’ He then said: ‘I never expected to ask you to obey, but this is one time you must. It is only a matter of form to have women and children first. The boat is thoroughly equipped, and everyone on her will be saved.’ I asked him if that was absolutely honest, and he said: ‘Yes.’ I felt better then because I had absolute confidence in what he said. He kissed me goodbye and placed me in the lifeboat with the assistance of an officer. As the boat was being lowered he yelled from the deck: ‘Keep your hands in your pockets, it is very cold weather.’
That was the last I saw of him, and now I remember the many husbands that turned their backs as the small boat was lowered, the women blissfully innocent of their husbands’ peril, and said goodbye with the expectation of seeing them within the next hour or two.
By that time our interest was centred on the lowering of the lifeboat, which occurred to me – although I know very little about it – to be a very poor way to lower one. The end I was in was almost straight up, while the lower end came near touching the water. One seaman said at the time that he did not know how to get the rope down, and asked for a knife. Some person in the boat happened to have a knife – a lady, I think – who gave it to him. He cut the rope, and we were about to hit the bottom when someone spoke of the plug. After a few minutes’ excitement to find something to stop the hole in the bottom of the boat where the plug is, we reached the water all right. The captain looked over to see us, I suppose, or something of the kind, and noticed there was only one man in the boat. Major Peuchen, of Canada, was then swung out to us as an experienced seaman.
There was a small light on the horizon that we were told to row towards. Some people seemed to think it was a fishing smack or small boat of some description. However we seemed to get no nearer the longer we rowed, and I am of the opinion that it was a star. Many people in our boat said they saw two lights. I could not until I had looked a long time. I think it was the way our eyes focused, and probably the hope for another boat. I do not believe it was anything but a star.
There were twenty-four people in our boat – they are supposed to hold fifty. During the night they looked for water and crackers and a compass, but they found none that night.
We were some distance away when the Titanic went down. We watched with sorrow and heard the many cries for help and pitied the captain because we knew he would have to stay with his ship. The cries we heard I thought were seamen, or possibly steerage, who had overslept, it not occurring to me for a moment that my husband and my friends were not saved.
It was bitterly cold, but I did not seem to mind it particularly. I was trying to locate my husband in all the boats that were near us. The night was beautiful – everything seemed to be with us in that respect – and a very calm sea. The icebergs on the horizon were all watched with interest. Some seemed to be as tall as mountains, and reminded me of the pictures I had studied in geography. Then there were flat ones, round ones also.
I am not exactly sure what time, but think it was between 5 and 5.30, when we sighted the Carpathia. Our seaman suggested we drift and let them pick us up. However the women refused and rowed towards it. Our seaman was Hichens, who refused to row but sat in the end of the boat wrapped in a blanket that one of the women had given him. I am not of the opinion that he was intoxicated, but a lazy, uncouth man who had no respect for the ladies and who was a thorough coward.
We made no attempt to return to the sinking Titanic because we supposed it was thoroughly equipped. Such a thought never entered my head. Nothing of the sort was mentioned in the boat. Having left the ship so early, we were innocent of the poor equipment that we now know of.
The sea had started to get fairly rough by the time we were taken on the Carpathia, and we were quite cold and glad for the shelter and protection. I have every praise for the Carpathia’s captain and its crew, as well as the passengers aboard. They were kindness itself to each and every one of us, regardless of position we occupied on boat. One lady very kindly gave me her berth, and I was as comfortable as can be expected under the circumstances until we arrived in New York. The ship’s doctors were particularly nice to us. I know many women who slept on the floor in the smoking room while Mr Ismay occupied the best room on the Carpathia, being in the centre of the boat, with every attention, and a sign on the door: ‘Please do not knock.’ There were other men who were miraculously saved, and barely injured, sleeping on the engine-room floor and such places as that, as the ship was very crowded.
The discipline coming into New York was excellent. We were carefully looked after in every way with the exception of a Marconigram I sent from the Carpathia on Monday morning, April 15, to my friends. Knowing of their anxiety, I borrowed money from a gentleman and took this Marconigram myself and asked the operator to send it for me, and he promised he would. However it was not received. Had it been sent, it would have spared my family, as well as Mr Smith’s, the terrible anxiety which they went through for four days. This is the only complaint I have to make against the Carpathia. They did tell me they were near enough to land to send it, but would send it through other steamers, as they were cabling the list of the rescued that way. He also said it was not necessary to pay him, because the White Star Line was responsible. I insisted, however, because I thought that probably the money might have some weight with them, as the whole thing seemed to have been a monied accident.
(US Inquiry, 20 May 1912)
In company with other first-class passengers, Mrs Edgar J. Meyer of New York had been assured that the accident was a trivial affair and would merely delay the Titanic’s arrival in New York. But she was by no mea
ns convinced.
I was afraid and made my husband promise if there was trouble he would not make me leave him. We walked around the deck a while.
An officer came up and cried, ‘All women into the lifeboats.’ My husband and I discussed it, and the officer said, ‘You must obey orders.’ We went down into the cabin and we decided on account of our baby to part. He helped me put on warm things. I got into a boat, but there were no sailors aboard. We called to the ship that there were no men in the boat. They sent a sailor down.
An English girl and I rowed for four hours and a half. We were well away from the steamer when it went down, but we heard the screams of the people left on the boat. There were about seventy of us widows on the Carpathia, and all were wonderfully brave. The Captain of the Carpathia and the passengers did all they could for us. Mrs Harris says my husband and Mr Harris and Mr Douglas lowered the last boatload of women. All three were perfectly calm.
(US press, 19 April 1912)
Chicago-born Mrs Julia Cavendish lost her husband Tyrell but was saved along with her two-year-old daughter and maid Nellie Barber. Her account of J. Bruce Ismay’s manic behaviour on the Carpathia was not substantiated by any other witnesses, raising doubts about its accuracy.
My husband told me to put on some clothes and follow him to the deck. I rushed up the stairways with the hundreds of others. The stewards told us the ship was absolutely unsinkable.
Twenty minutes later came that awful cry, ‘Save your lives!’ Then there was a mad rush for the boats. My husband told me to get into a lifeboat with the little girl, saying he would wait a little while. I kissed him and said ‘Goodbye’. I was put into the boat, together with twenty-two other women. Soon we were a good distance away from the Titanic’s side.
Most of the women were in their bare feet and nightgowns, and there was no food except two pocketfuls of crackers I had stuffed into my coat. These I divided among the others.
Voices from the Titanic Page 14
